Diamond in the Rough
by Tempestt Londyn
Summary: "Justin Finch-Fletchley was no stranger to being disliked. He knew, all two well, that such comes with the territory of being special." Written for the "First Magic" challenge on the Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum.


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter isn't mine.

_In response to meira16's challenge, "First Magic"—first display of accidental magic young wizards or witches have. Funny ones, "angsty" ones, foreshadowing of future talents or events, parents' reactions, embarrassing incidents among Muggle-borns; for classical magic, only (no Veela, Metamorphagi, etc.). Entries must be between 300 and 2K words._

**~Diamond in the Rough~**

"Give it a rest, Ernie, will you?" The newly revived beseeched, taking his seat at the Hufflepuff table and shooting an irritated glare at his best mate.

Of course, his best mate wasn't currently living up to the title. Ernie Macmillian failed at priority organization, as far as Justin Finch-Fletchley was concerned. The latter lay, petrified, in the hospital wing for what he considered _forever_, and expected to a much warmer reception.

While appreciative of Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones' lovely greetings, Justin could not, for the life of him, fathom why Ernie was so pissed by his apology to Harry Potter. The whole bloody school had all but hung the Gryffindor in effigy, for Helga's sake! And Justin knew an expression of regret was only proper.

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to…" clipped Ernie, zeroed in on the Gryffindors. Only when Dumbledore began his end-of-term speech did he seem to comprehend his rudeness. His eyes flickered to Justin's. "What was that? Justin?"

The muggle-born shifted, pupils finding the Headmaster. It would do no good to harbor bitterness towards Ernie, just as entertaining half-baked notions towards all purebloods would not prove fruitful.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was no stranger to being disliked.

He knew, all too well, that such comes with the territory of being special.

* * *

><p>Victoria Finch-Fletchley was not an insensitive person. However, she was a woman who firmly believed in societal propriety and remaining true to herself.<p>

The particular evening should not have been an occasion in which to foster prolonged displeasure. Victoria genuinely wanted nothing more than to come away from her son's funeral and bury away all false smiles, all feigned composure, crawl into bed, and find the will to regain a seed of strength.

She was never given the opportunity, cruelly enough.

Declining Harriet's request to temporarily care for her son would have been vulgar and Victoria Finch-Fletchley could not be associated with such tomfoolery.

Thus, she agreed—not out loyalty to her daughter-in-law, nor because she sympathized with Harriet's wails of "He looks so much like Clarke and I can't properly care for him," but simply on account of _correctness_.

"Yes, Harriet, darling. Justin is _quite_ well." Victoria gritted through clenched teeth, rolling her eyes in ascertainment of the identity of the anxious caller. "Well, I really must be going, dear." Phone reunited with receiver, without another moment's delay.

The evening was cold, yet four-year-old Justin was on the veranda. He sat in a recliner, arms around the knees that were pulled to his chest. Victoria sighed, joining him.

"Come inside." She said, simply. Her statement was not a request, but her stubborn grandson rose not.

The child vigorously shook his head. Victoria sniffed. A strict woman—unskilled in the art of solace—it never once occurred to her that the lad might require some semblance of affection.

"I realize your father's passing has hurt you deeply."

It sounded like a distantly cold remark, but when had she ever claimed to be fond of the child? Pretenses were unnecessary one's own home.

"I hope you will, one day, make Clarke proud by attending Eton—"

"I don't wanna go to _stupid _Eton! I want my daddy back!"

Victoria was an inch away from grabbing Justin, possibly _shaking _him as a reminder that his father was _gone_, that life _wasn't fair_—that _nothing _could alter this painful truth.

The words caught in her throat, startled by a sudden flash in the boy's eyes. Victoria's pearl necklace snapped, beads flying in every direction.

"You—you—" She sputtered, incoherently, eyes wide in horror.

Curls falling in his face, Justin bit his lip in uncertainly. He slowly backed away from his grandmother.

"I…I…."

"You what? _What?_" Victoria shrieked, looking at her grandson as though he were but a mutt. A hand ran, feverishly, down the length of her neck, probing for confirmation of what transpired. "Oh, I must alert your mother of this!"

The woman quickly fled the veranda. The door slammed, deafeningly, behind her.

Justin stood, frozen on the spot, completely perplexed as to what had just taken place.

Realization dawned on him, abruptly.

_Daddy told me I was special_.

**Fin. **


End file.
